


Public Castration Is a Good Idea

by larvae



Category: Mad Max: Fury Road
Genre: Castration, Daddy Kink, Gelding, Hand Job, M/M, Masturbation, Torture, almost necrophilia but not quite, orgasm denial sort of, voyeurism a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:21:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4661256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larvae/pseuds/larvae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kink meme fill for "War boy castration" prompt</p>
            </blockquote>





	Public Castration Is a Good Idea

**Author's Note:**

> Four score and seven years ago I promised a friend I would take a crack at his kink meme prompt, so here's the fleshed out version of what I said on twitter, thanks for waiting ♡ This isn't a song/album fic and has nothing to do with Swans, fyi.

It was obvious as soon as his shaking hand grabbed onto the Mechanic’s pant leg that this war boy had reached the definitive end of his half life. He’d made more of it than many of his comrades, Organic should know, he’d forged an intimate relationship with many of the holes that combat had blown in him. In a strictly professional, care-giving capacity, of course.

“Alright then, Caligo?,” The Mechanic slurred, tilting his head down and sliding his goggles up onto his forehead to get a better look at the poor bastard, “lookin’ a bit _peaky_ …”

That was being obscenely generous. His war paint hadn’t been reapplied in days, washed over by however many night sweats and rubbed into the stone floor of the sick bay by long strings of shaking fits. That was almost hard to tell with how pale he’d grown in the dark, cold sweat beading on his brow and tremors running through his grasping fingers. He was a wreck and a lost cause, wide eyes growing milky, heartbeat growing faint, and The Organic Mechanic looming over him with his cock growing hard.

 

“P- please,” he managed from face down on the floor, lifting his forehead from where it’d been rested on the Mechanic’s boot, “I c- can’t die like this.”

 

“Mmmmm, I reckon ye can,” the Organic hummed back. He jerked his leg away, the War Boy’s hands too slick with death sweats to hold onto the fabric they’d managed to grab. With a chuckle he swung his leg back towards the poor thing and used the toe of his boot against his shoulder to flip him belly up.

 

“You have to help me,” Caligo pleaded from under him as Organic planted a boot on his chest, “g- give us a top off. ’s all I need….” his teeth began chattering in the wake of his lie.

 

“Oooh hooo hooo boy-oh, chills settin’ in?” Organic tutted, “it’d be like pourin’ blood down ‘e drain. No use arguin'!!!” he boomed, cutting short the boy’s stammered protest, “I know a corpse when I see one,” he said with a lopsided grin.

 

The Mechanic couldn’t resist palming his hard on through his leathers, catching the tip of his tongue between his teeth as he did so. He’d beg, they always did, and the tension in the air before they lowered themselves to it was always tantalizing. Palpable like a loop of wire pulled tight against an inflamed tonsil. Invasive and necessary; surgically intimate.

_They all get the same look,_ Organic thought as his hand passed over the head of his cock on its third stroke, _that glassy eyed empty little tick when they body starts fadin’ faster than they pride._ His dick twitched at that and with a reluctant sigh he rolled his hips away from his hand’s attention. No point in getting it over with now; waste o’ time for everyone.

 

“Please,” came Caligo’s plaintive mewl, _nothing like dyin’ to make a cunt polite,_ “pl- lease, I’ll do anything…”

 

_Aaaahhhhhh_ , Organic closed his eyes at that sweet sound, “Anything?” he goaded, pumping his boot against the boy’s chest like a brake peddle.

 

“Anything, please, uh- uh- Organic you c- can’t let me die like this. P- please I can’t die soft, c- can’t die here.”

 

His pupils were blown wide with panicked fear and his failing lungs were struggling to contend with the sole of Organic’s boot. Caligo’s wasn’t an uncommon end, the lumps and the sweating sickness claimed as many as the open road. Cryin’ shame.

The Mechanic tucked his head down to wipe some drool from his lip onto his shoulder. Aye, he’d give the boy a proper send off, he would. “Look alive, boys!!!” he bellowed out to the rest of the sick bay, “we’ve got a brother to send off in style!!” 

Slowly, weary figures emerged from the gloom.  Caligo remained where he lay, his slightly less dead brethren pressing in around him, laying hands on the poor boy. Quickly, his torso was pinned down and his head was in someone’s lap, their legs swung over his shoulders, feet planted on either side of his chest, a hand on his brow. The Organic Mechanic got down on his knees to straddle the boy, his bulk pinning down his lower half as he settled onto his thighs. Necessary grounding before ascension, debasement before glory. Fire and blood. Piss and bile. Invasive and necessary to gain entrance to Walhalla.

Organic gathered his leather apron up around his gut, his cock straining against his roughspun britches. He gave a throaty chuckle as he rutted up against the boy, watching his breath hitch at the steady, even pressure of his strokes. 

 

“Alright Cali-boy?” he grunted as he pulled a straight razor from his tool belt, “don’t you croak on me yet.”

 

Clumsily, Organic scooted back to undo Caligo’s belt with his left hand. If his weight gave the boy’s knees any trouble, he didn’t say; his watery eyes were busy watching the good doctor’s every move. He pulled the belt taught, stropping his blade against the leather a few times before yanking it out from the boy’s belt loops and tossing it aside.

With a wink Organic undid Caligo’s pants and pulled out cock, giving it a few rough tugs before making a disgusting noise in the back of his throat and leaning down to spit on the head, pulling the moisture down with his calloused fingers. Before straightening up he tilted his head up to meet Caligo’s eye and gave the tip of his cock a quick lick. The bark of laughter that followed made the boy’s face burn hotter than his fever.

 

“Aaahh, there you are, be a good boy now for the ol’ Mechanic,” he said, moving his left hand down to fondle Caligo’s balls, switching over to his right for his strokes, straight razor still open, balanced between two fingers. 

 

“Tha’s it,” he purred, keeping a steady pace, watching the boy struggle to keep his eyes open and focused for fear of them closing forever. His gathered brethren were getting hard themselves, shifting their weights around in frustration since their hands were busy. With a chuckle the Organic noticed the boy supporting Caligo’s head had his tongue lolling out as he ground his hips up against the crown of his skull.

 

The Organic Mechanic looked down at the dying, writhing War Boy with hooded eyes, his mouth curling into a slack jawed smile,  “Why ye doin’ this Cali-boy?” he said, leaning in towards him, keeping the rhythm of his hand steady.

 

Caligo looked back at him with wild eyes, sweat dripping off his brow, “T- to die historic…” he managed.

 

“Oh aye, and who ye doin’ this for?” the Organic teased, tracing his thumb over the ridge of his foreskin up to the tip of his cock where moisture was already beading.

 

Caligo made a small, confused noise, his chest rising and falling in a faltering, uneven staccato. He tried to jerk his head around to find an answer, but he was pinned down too firmly in his place. His eyes stayed on the Organic’s, pinpoint pupils shaking slightly.

 

“Ye doin’ this fer Daddy, ain’tchya?” the Organic said slowly, increasing his pace on the boy’s twitching cock, “Doin’ this to make Daddy proud.”

 

“Y- yes,” said Caligo breathlessly, “yes.”

 

“Say it, boy.”

 

“Yes, yes, for Daddy, making Daddy proud.”

 

“Aye, and you think Daddy’ll let you into Walhalla?”

 

“Y- yes!” Caligo cried out, bucking his hips up to meet the Organic’s hand, a spark igniting in his eyes, “Yes!!! I am awaited!!”

Select phrases passed through the surrounding War Boys like cascading ripples, spilling from all of their cracked, straining lips to form a chanting babble, _Witness him, He is awaited, Awaited in Walhalla_ ...

Aaahhh, Daddy thought all that was power, up above it all with a wave of the dying carrying his message across the desert. Nah, this, this was power. Two knuckles into a hole that shouldn't be there, that was power. The crude, violent intimacy of his bedside manner, that was power. That was _power,_ and this was where it all manifested.Deftly, Organic flipped his straight razor to rest steady against his palm and sunk the blade into the base of Caligo’s cock. The blood began to gush instantly, let free from where it’d been coaxed. The boy’s scream was half mad, his brethren pressing him down harder into the stone beneath him, their chants growing louder.

 

“Come on then, boy,” the Organic grunted as he sawed away at the flesh beneath him, slick with gushing blood and pre-cum, “Witness, aye?”

 

“Witness!!!” came the battle cry from his brothers, barely audible over his peels of agony.

 

“No use gettin’ it done quickly,” Organic purred, pulling at Caligo’s severed cock with his clumsy left hand, moving the straight razor in his right up to gash at his belly. It sunk through his clammy skin with ease, biting into muscle made weak by disease, having no glistening fat to contend with.

 

“Look alive boy!” he goaded, pulling and slicing to change the pitch of Caligo’s screams. His bowels turned to water and let loose in his death throes, and had any of those gathered been of sound mind the stench would have made them recoil. Instead they pressed further inward, the end was nearing, Walhalla awaited.

 

“Let’s see if Daddy might hear you, aye?” the Organic bellowed, jerking his head up towards the ceiling. He reached down to grab Caligo’s balls as well as his cock, slicing away at the skin that held them close to his body. Sweat stung in his eyes as he worked; decrepit as it was the boy’s body wasn’t ready to surrender its prizes too easily. With every uneven gash his instrument grew duller and his work grew harder. He felt exceedingly moral for a moment as he worried at a bit of gristle that he thought might be an exposed bundle of nerves, the lengths he’d go to to see these boys through to their end. Admirable, really. Heroic. Chrome.

With a final grunt and a jiggle the boy's cock and bollocks were crudely removed. The group of War Boys around him let out a cacophony of celebratory shouts, throwing their hands into the air and saluting V8, singing their dead brother's praises. The Organic shoved the boy's severed genitals into his gaping mouth, letting two fingers brush the back of his tongue as he did so, watching him gag and sputter against his hand with the last of his strength. Warm, quickly drying blood caked his belly and the straining front of his trousers. He was slick with sweat sitting on a corpse in a pile of excrement, tossing his straight razor to the side to worry at his own cock.

 

"Witness, Brother Caligo," he grunted as he masturbated, keeping his eyes focused on the glassy things left in the middle of the boy's skull. Walhalla awaited no longer, the boy'd made it through. With his help, by his hand, writhing under him like a useless worm, unmaned and unmade and dependent on his divine will. _This_ was godhood, this was glory, down in the pit with the corpses and the shit and the reality of the world under his nails, pressing into his gut, rubbing at his cock. With a last slobbering grunt, The Organic Mechanic came, catching his nut in his palm and licking it off his hand with a grimace.

God, would this be a pain to clean up... 

 


End file.
